My wife and I have been visiting local graveyards as part of the All Saints/All Souls observances. It’s quite interesting to see families laid to rest together, and the silent tales that the tombstones tell. Child deaths – sometimes at birth or shortly thereafter – are quite common, a reminder that we live in a time of unusual safety.
So far, I’ve visited two of them with her, one in a rural area and one that has been overtaken by suburbs. Both date to about the 1870s, but while the rural one is still after, the last graves placed in the suburban one date to the early 1970s.
Americans are famously rootless, but once families were more sedentary, and a single monument stone with the surname and small individual markers were quite common. Indeed, I think the suburban graveyard was likely bought up by families, because there are almost no individual graves – everyone seems to be clustered around a monument, and some families have a low stone enclosure marking their plot. It is on high ground, overlooking the Red Cedar, but there are some dips and hillocks, and all of it has a very scenic and natural feel. The graveyard is maintained by the township, but since its closure, the driveway running through it was partially blocked, and will only admit riding mowers.
When I was young, it was still possible to drive through it, and one of my friends told me that it was an excellent make-out location. It’s heavily wooded, scenic, yet the aged (and sometimes toppled) graves give it a spooky feel, made more pronounced by the obelisk-style monuments. The mere hint of a spook supposedly caused women to cling to their companions tightly, and thinks generally proceeded from there.
What interested me was the many names that now appear on street signs. There is a lot of history in graveyards.
The rural cemetery is about as old, has family plots, but is still active. It is on open, flat ground, though elevated above the surrounding terrain. A state park is located along its border, protecting it from development. The suburban site has a house of fairly recent construction tucked in next to it, and from the in-ground pool, one has a fine view of the tombstones. Talk about momento mori!
As I said, Americans like to roam. Neither my parents nor my grandparents are buried in the state in which they were born. I intend to remain in Michigan, and my kids seem to prefer to stay close rather than wander the world. Maybe going off to find a job and a new life is proving overrated.
There is something tragic in seeing decayed graves with no one able or willing to maintain them, repair or replace the failing stones. The groundskeepers clearly try to keep things together, resting toppled stones near their foundation, but Americans have a great fear of death, and dread cemeteries (which my classmate used to his advantage).
But there is another way, and older way where the resting places of the dead are places of rest and peace. We should get back to that.
Chateau Lloyd 
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